Breaking Silence

CHAPTER 19

I wake to the hard thrum of a pounding head, the smell of bacon, and an all-consuming need to throw up. Trying not to moan, I roll over and reach for Tomasetti, but he’s not there. That’s when I realize he’s probably the one doing the cooking. Moving with the caution of a woman who knows that at any moment her head could explode, I crawl out of bed and stumble to the bathroom.

Four aspirin and a long, hot shower later, I walk into the kitchen and find Tomasetti sitting at the table. His laptop sits in front of him next to a steaming cup of coffee. He glances up when I enter and I see him quickly assess my frame of mind.

“Don’t say it,” I mutter.

“I was going to tell you that you look nice,” he says.

I can’t tell if he’s pulling my leg, so I go directly to the coffeemaker without responding, find the largest mug in my arsenal, and pour.

“I don’t usually see you out of uniform,” he adds. “You have really nice … toes.”

After everything we shared the night before, a comment like that shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I’m wearing a comfy old sweater and jeans, no socks. I don’t understand why he’s commenting. I wish he’d cut it out.

Cup full, I join him at the table. “I’d rather be wearing the uniform.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the go-ahead in a few days.”

I motion toward the laptop. “What are you working on?”

“Final reports. We should be able to close the case today or tomorrow.”

With those words, all the things I’ve been trying not to think about rush at me like a volley of spears: finding Samuel and Ike in the manure pit, Tomasetti’s risking his life to rescue them, the ill-fated car chase, pulling my weapon, finding Mose dead by my own hand.…

“You sleep okay?” he asks.

It’s a silly question, because we didn’t get much sleep. I’m not complaining. I’m closer to him than I’ve been to anyone else my entire adult life. It’s new territory for both of us. A good place to be. I don’t know why that feels so fragile this morning. Maybe because we both know how easily the good things can slip away.

“Thank you for staying,” I say.

His mouth twitches as he slides the laptop into its case. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” I sip the coffee, nearly moan as the elixir swirls around my tongue. “You make good coffee.”

He smiles. “Wait till you try the bacon and toast.”

“Bring it on.”

“You’re out of eggs. You don’t keep much food around, do you?”

“Probably a good thing, since I’m a terrible cook.”

The rare domestic moment is interrupted when my cell phone chirps. Finding it charging on the counter, I glance down at the display, surprised to see the number of the Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office. “Burkholder,” I say.

“This is Deputy Howard. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, Chief Burkholder. Last time we talked, you mentioned you wanted to speak with the Amish bishop out here. Well, I’m out at Amos Smucker’s place now, and he says he’s happy to talk to you.”

I’d nearly forgotten about my request to speak with Abel Slabaugh’s former bishop. With the case about to be closed, I almost tell the deputy it no longer matters. But I know from experience that information is the one commodity a cop can never have too much of, even if it’s after the fact.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll only take a moment.”

The line hisses as the deputy passes the phone to the bishop. “Hello?”

Bishop Smucker has an old man’s voice with a strong Pennsylvania Dutch inflection. Quickly, I identify myself and get right to my question. “How well did you know Abel Slabaugh?” I begin.

“I’ve known Abel since the day he was born. I was very sad to hear of his passing. He is with God now, and I know he will find peace in the arms of the Lord.”

“Do you know why he drove to Painters Mill, Ohio?”

The bishop sighs in a way that tells me he wasn’t happy about Abel driving a motor vehicle. “Driving is against the Ordnung. Of course, Abel asked for my blessing.” Another sigh. “He said Painters Mill was too far to travel by buggy. If it hadn’t been for the problem with the boy, I would not have agreed to it. In the end, I did.”

“What boy?” I ask.

“His nephew, I believe.”

“Moses?”

“Yes, I believe that was his name.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I sense the bishop clamming up. “Was there some kind of problem with Mose?” I ask, pressing.

The old man hesitates. “Abel confided in me, told me there was a family crisis.”

“Bishop Smucker, I’m the chief of police here in Painters Mill. I’m trying to close a case. In order to do that, I need your help.”

“It is a private matter, Chief Burkholder.”

“I understand. But I still have to ask you why Abel drove to Painters Mill.”

“Abel spoke to me in confidence.”

“Abel is dead,” I say. “So is the boy.”

The old man gasps. “The boy, too?”

“Why did Abel drive to Painters Mill?” I repeat.

He is silent for so long, I think he’s not going to answer. I’m about to try a more forceful tactic, but then he says, “Abel told me his nephew was having … confused feelings for his sister there in Painters Mill. Abel’s brother and sister-in-law were concerned. They asked Abel to drive down and bring the boy back here to live.”

Premeditation and motive, I think. Mose murdered his parents because they were going to send him away to live with his uncle in Pennsylvania. “Thank you for speaking with me, Bishop Smucker.”

I clip the phone to my belt. When I look at Tomasetti, he’s staring intently at me. “What do you have?” he asks.

I recap my conversation with the bishop.

Tomasetti nods. “Mose knew his parents were going to send him to Pennsylvania. He didn’t want to leave Salome, so he killed them.”

The coffee goes sour on my tongue, and I set down my cup.

Rising, he goes to the counter and slides two strips of bacon and a piece of toast on a plate. He carries it to the table and places it in front of me.

“Thanks.” I don’t want the bacon, but I pick up a piece and take a bite.

His cell phone rings. He glances down at it, then sends the call to voice mail. “That was Rasmussen. I’ve got to go.”

The words send a hard rush of panic through me. I know where he’s going—to speak to the kids. Get their final statements. I hate the thought of not being there.

“I want to talk to Salome,” I say.

“Kate…”

“I mean it, John. I need to see her.”

“I don’t have to remind you that you’re on leave.”

“I know it,” I snap. “Damn it, I want to see her. It doesn’t have to be in an official capacity.”

Muttering beneath his breath, he picks up his laptop case and starts toward the living room. “You know that’s not a good idea, don’t you?” he says over his shoulder.

“Since when has that stopped me from anything?”

“Good point.”

“If you don’t take me with you, I’ll go on my own.”

“I know you will.” He growls the words as he goes to the closet, yanks out his trench coat.

“I just want to talk to her, make sure she’s okay.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he says, but he hands me my coat.

“All the guys tell me that,” I respond, and we go out the door.

I don’t want to be nervous about seeing Salome, but I am. This will be the first time I’ve spoken with her since Mose’s death. I have no idea how she will respond to me. She witnessed the shooting, after all; she watched me gun down her lover. Though I’m sure she realizes I was defending myself and probably saved her life in the process, hearts are rarely as logical as our intellect. I can’t help but wonder if she blames me.

But I won’t apologize for what I did. If faced with the same choice, I’d do the same thing a second time. I am, however, sorry Mose is dead. I’m sorry I was the one who killed him. More than anything, I want her to know that. I want her to know I care about her and her two young siblings, that I’m here for them. But then, life is full of wishes, most of which are left ungranted.

I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I wish there was a place in my life for these kids. I’d like to watch them grow up. Keep an eye on them. Make sure they don’t get into trouble during their rumspringas. The thought makes me smile. But I know all of it’s a fantasy. The truth of the matter is, there’s no room in my life for children right now. Just an empty spot that might once have been filled.

“Are you ready for this?”

I glance over at the sound of Tomasetti’s voice, realize we’re pulling into Adam Slabaugh’s lane. Ahead I see the old white house with its green roof and shutters, like an aging patriarch looking out over his legacy of plowed fields and pastures.

“I’m ready.” My words come too quickly, and I see his mouth tighten. “Do the boys know what happened to Mose?”

“I’m sure they probably know Mose is dead. I don’t know if they were told how it happened.”

I nod, thinking about that. “What if they hate me?”

His gaze lingers on mine. “You saved their lives, Kate. If it wasn’t for you, those two boys wouldn’t be here.” He shrugs.

He’s being logical, of course. But it’s not helping. By the time we park in the gravel area between the barn and the house, my heart is pounding and my palms are wet with sweat.

“Chief Katie!”

Tomasetti and I turn simultaneously and see Ike and Samuel bound from the house, a Border collie and an obese yellow Lab on their heels.

Ike doesn’t slow down before running into me and throwing his arms around my legs. “Daisy’s going to have puppies!” he shouts.

“I was going to tell her!” Samuel complains.

This is not at all what I expected, and several thoughts strike me at once. First and foremost, despite losing their parents and brother in the last days, and nearly dying in that pit themselves, they’re not broken up or crying or even moping around. The next thing that registers is that the boys are genuinely pleased to see me; they don’t hate me. The realization moves me, shakes me up just a little bit.

They no longer look like Amish farm boys. Both are wearing newish-looking jeans, sweatshirts, and coats, and I realize their uncle probably took them shopping at the Walmart in Millersburg.

I set my hand on Ike’s skinny shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”

He looks up at me and grins. Only then do I see the remnants of grief on his sweet face. He looks fragile and sad, but he realizes neither. “Hi.”

When I look down at the two dogs, I’m shocked to find my vision blurred with tears. “Which one is Daisy?” I ask.

“Daisy’s the black-and-white one.” Samuel motions toward the Border collie. “The other one’s a boy dog, and boy dogs can’t have puppies.”

“Oh,” I say.

“Daisy’s really smart!” Ike exclaims. “Uncle Adam said we get to keep all the puppies no matter how many she has. I hope she has a hundred.”

I’m aware of Tomasetti coming around the front of the Tahoe and kneeling to pet the dogs. “Your uncle home?” he asks.

“Uncle Adam’s in the kitchen,” Samuel replies.

“He don’t know how to make pancakes, so we had to go to McDonald’s.”

“Yeah, but we like McDonald’s,” Samuel adds, nodding.

Ike crosses to Tomasetti and looks down at the Border collie. “She likes it when you scratch her like this.”

I laugh outright when he does a spider thing with his little-boy fingers and the dog groans and growls and begins to wriggle. “See? Ain’t she funny?”

“Can I help you?”

I look up to see Adam Slabaugh coming down the sidewalk, shrugging into an insulated jacket. He looks even thinner than the last time I saw him. But his blue eyes are alive this morning, and I know that despite the grief of losing his brothers, sister-in-law, and nephew, the three surviving children have filled him with optimism and hope.

Giving Daisy a final pat, Tomasetti straightens and crosses to Slabaugh, and the two men shake. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

Slabaugh sighs. “I wish it could have happened another way.”

“I understand,” Tomasetti responds.

I join the men and motion toward the two boys, who are a few yards away, playing with the dogs. “How are they?”

Adam grimaces. “Surprisingly good, considering. I didn’t know what to tell them about Mose, so they don’t know yet. They cried themselves to sleep last night, especially little Ike. I walked into their room at bedtime and they both said prayers for their parents. It breaks my heart.”

The picture he paints is incredibly sad, and for a too long moment, I can’t speak because I’m afraid I’m going to cry. Kids need their parents, especially when they’re young. I want to tell him that, but I don’t trust my voice not to betray me.

“I know it’s a cliché,” Tomasetti tells him, “but kids really are amazingly resilient.”

“They’re lucky to have you,” I say. And then I ask the question that’s been tearing me up inside. “How’s Salome?”

He offers a grim look. “She hasn’t stopped crying. Barely speaks to me. Stays in her room. Last night, she woke up screaming.” He shrugs, looking lost. “I didn’t know what to do, so I just hugged her.”

“She’ll probably need some counseling,” Tomasetti offers.

I nod in agreement. “I can call you with some names and numbers,” I add.

“I sure would appreciate that.” Slabaugh looks relieved. “She worked herself up so bad, she threw up.”

That makes me think of her pregnancy, and I wonder if he knows. I wonder how she’ll manage at such a young age without a woman in her life. “Do you know she’s going to have a baby?” I ask.

“She told me.” He shakes his head, looks down at the ground. “I don’t understand, but I’ll support her.” His gaze meets mine. “This is all so new to me. I’m doing my best, but I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

Silence falls over us, and Tomasetti gets us back on track. “We’re here to get final statements.”

“You need to speak with the children?” Slabaugh grimaces. “I really hate to put them through anything more.”

“I’ll do my best not to upset them,” Tomasetti assures him.

Slabaugh glances at me, and I know he’s wondering why I’m here. “I’m on administrative leave,” I explain. “I just wanted to see the kids. See how they’re doing.”

Nodding, Slabaugh motions toward the house. “Well, we may as well get this over with. I’ll make coffee. I think Salome’s in her room. Ike and Samuel—” He looks over where the two boys were a moment ago, cups his hands around his mouth, and calls out their names. “It’s like trying to keep up with a tornado.” But he smiles. “They’re probably in the barn. Go on to the house while I fetch them.”

He starts toward the barn; on impulse, I stop him. “I’ll get them,” I say. “You two go ahead and get started.”

He nods. Tomasetti gives me a knowing look, then the two men start toward the house. I stand there on the sidewalk and watch them disappear inside. I’m not sure why I’m delaying my meeting with Salome. I want to see her. But I don’t know how she will react. I’m afraid she’ll blame me for Mose’s death.

Knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it, I head for the barn. Around me, a light rain has begun to fall. A flock of crows caws from the plowed field to my left. Beyond, cattle are bawling. Inside the barn, one of the dogs is barking.

The sliding door stands open a foot or so. I walk in and pause. The interior is dim; little light comes in through the dirty windows. The smell of hay and damp earth mingles with the odor of motor oil and rubber from the tractor that sits to my right. I’m about to call out to the boys, when I hear them whispering. Smiling, I start toward the wood steps that will take me to the loft. Something in their voices stops me. I stand there, listening to them over the rain pinging against the tin roof. Inexplicably, the hairs at my nape stand on end.

I’m too far away to make out individual words, but close enough to discern that Ike is crying and that there’s fear in Samuel’s voice.

Moving to the foot of the loft stairs, I look up and listen. I hear more whispering. I’m about to start climbing, when I realize the boys aren’t in the loft, but hiding in the niche beneath the steps. They’ve built a fort out of hay. The opening is about a foot square and covered by a burlap bag. Rounding the steps, I pause outside the opening and squat. I’m about to shove the burlap bag aside and peek in, when I hear words that freeze my blood.

“She’ll put you back in the poop pit!”

“I don’t care. I’m gonna tell Uncle Adam.” The fear in Ike’s voice drives a stake right through my heart. He’s crying openly, his voice trembling with each word. “I’m scared.”

“You can’t tell,” Samuel hisses. “You heard what she said. No one will believe us.”

“But I’m scared, Sammy!”

“If we tell, they’ll send us to the jail for bad Englischer kids. They hate Amish kids. They take away your clothes and make you run around naked. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Ike sobs, sounding miserable and hopeless. “I want Mamm! Why did Mamm have to die? Why can’t she be here? I want her back.”

“Shhh. Quiet. You’re acting like a big baby.”

“Salome is bad, Sammy.”

“She is not!”

“I saw her steal Datt’s money outta the jar.”

“Did not, you big liar.”

“She said if I told, she’d cut my head off while I was asleep.” Ike cries so hard, he begins choking and coughing.

“Come on, Ikey.” Samuel’s voice softens. “Salome ain’t all bad. She promised to take care of us and let us do whatever we want.”

“She promised to come back for us after throwing us in all that poop, but she didn’t! It’s her fault we had to go to the hospital!”

“She said Mose wouldn’t let her come.”

“She blames everything on Mose! She’s mean! I hate her!”

“Stop crying, you big fat baby. We got to go inside.”

“I ain’t going! I don’t ever want to see her again.” Another round of sobs. “I want Mamm!”

I don’t hear the rest of the tirade. My mind is still trying to absorb the words I heard earlier. She promised to come back for us after throwing us in all that poop, but she didn’t!

The words pummel my brain, but I resist their meaning. All I can think is that the boys are mistaken. They’re grieving and confused, and their imaginations have gotten the better of them. Squatting outside the small fort, I’m vaguely aware of my heart knocking against my ribs, my breaths coming short and fast. Disbelief is a vortex inside my head. More than anything, I want to believe I’ve misinterpreted what I just overheard. Surely there’s a logical explanation. All I have to do is call them out here and ask them to explain.

But deep inside, I know I didn’t misunderstand. Those two boys just revealed that it was Salome who pushed them into the manure pit, not Mose. The truth of that is almost too much to bear. Grief slashes at me, a clawed animal trapped inside me and trying tear its way out. The pain is so tremendous that I press a hand to my abdomen, grab hold of a beam with the other.

“God,” I whisper. “God.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I push myself to my feet. I take several deep breaths, stifle the emotions rampaging through me. “Ike? Samuel? It’s Kate. Can you come out here, please?”

The burlap is yanked aside and Samuel’s pale face appears. The look he gives me makes me feel like I’m the Grim Reaper and his time has come. Fear and guilt swim in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am?” he squeaks.

“You’re not in any trouble, honey,” I say. “Just come out here. Tell Ike to come, too. Okay?”

“’Kay,” he says, and ducks back inside.

Rubbing my hand over my face, I walk around to the steps and collapse onto the lowest one. With numb hands, I unclip my phone from my belt and hit the speed dial for Tomasetti. “John,” I whisper.

“What’s wrong?” he says without preamble.

“Come out to the barn.” He knows something’s happened; he hears it in my voice. “Leave Salome and Adam inside.”

I hear rustling on the other end, and I know he’s coming, no questions asked. Relief sweeps through me. “I’m on my way.”

Closing my phone, I clip it back onto my belt and lower my face into my hands. I feel sick inside. Sick for these children who’ve already been through so much. But I also feel guilty because I did nothing to protect them. How could I have been so remiss?

Ike and Samuel sidle up to me. I raise my head and look at them through my fingers. “Hey,” I say.

Ike is still crying. His cheeks are red, and I can see clean stripes where his tears made a path through the dirt. Samuel looks guilty and scared, like maybe he’s on the verge of tears, too. They know I overheard them.

“Are you mad at us?” Samuel asks.

“Of course not,” I tell him. “I could never be mad at you guys.”

The reassurance doesn’t seem to help. Ike cries harder, his little chest heaving as he sucks in great gulps of air. Samuel’s lower lip trembles. They stare at me as if I’m going to do them physical harm.

“Why are you guys so upset?” I begin.

Ike is too overcome with crying to answer. Samuel looks down at his Walmart sneakers, and I see a single tear fall to the dirt floor.

“We just miss our mamm and datt,” Samuel says bravely.

“I think it’s more than that,” I say, keeping my voice soft. “Isn’t it?”

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Samuel proclaims.

“We didn’t,” Ike chimes in. “Please don’t send us to the jail for bad kids. We didn’t do anything!”

“No one’s sending you anywhere,” I say, trying to calm them. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong. But I heard what you guys were talking about.”

For an instant, I think Samuel is going to throw up. Ike looks like he’s going to run back to the hay fort and hide. But neither boy moves a muscle, two little soldiers standing tall, waiting for the firing squad to cut them down.

“We didn’t say nothing.” Samuel tries to lie, but his trembling voice reveals his ineptness. “We were just playacting. Making up stories.”

I reach out and run the backs of my knuckles over his soft cheek. “Honey, I’m not mad. Okay? And you’re not in any trouble. But you need to tell me what happened. I’m the chief of police, so you can tell me the truth. I’ll protect you and keep you safe.”

“You’ll send us to jail for bad kids!” Ike blurts. “Salome said so!”

Samuel elbows his brother hard enough to make him grunt.

Realizing what he said, Ike slaps his hand over his mouth, stares at me over the tops of his fingers.

I divide my attention between both boys. “Listen to me. You’re not going to jail. And you’re not in any trouble. Do you understand?”

Tomasetti appears at the barn door. I glance over, watch his expression as he takes in the scene and walks over to us. “Hi, boys,” he says. “Everything okay?”

The kids look at the ground and mutter a greeting.

I scoot over and Tomasetti sits on the step next to me. “Where’s Salome?” I ask.

“Inside with Adam.”

I nod toward the boys. “Samuel and Ike have some things to tell us,” I say.

Tomasetti sets his elbows on his knees and folds his hands. “All right.”

I turn my attention to Samuel, holding my breath because I’m afraid the boys will clam up now that Tomasetti is here. Or maybe they’ll deny what I heard so clearly just minutes before. I turn my attention to Ike. “Tell Agent Tomasetti who put you and your brother in the pit.”

“Mose did it,” Samuel says quickly.

I turn my attention to the younger boy. “Ike, who put you in the pit?”

The little boy begins to cry. “Mose.”

Reminding myself of the horror and trauma these two boys have been subjected to, I rein in my impatience. “That’s not what I heard you say a moment ago.”

Neither boy can meet my gaze. They’re not very good at lying, and I’m certain Tomasetti sees that as clearly as I do. Up until now, no one had even considered the possibility they had been threatened—or worse.

“Ike?” I press. “Who put you into the manure pit?”

“No one.” But he looks at his older brother. I see an apology in his eyes, and I know he’s going to come clean.

“Someone put you there,” I say. “You didn’t get down there by yourself.”

After a moment, Ike wipes his nose on his coat sleeve. “She told us not to tell,” he says between sniffles.

“Ikey!” Samuel hisses.

I ignore the older boy. I sense Tomasetti’s attention zeroing in on Ike. “Who told you not to tell?” I ask.

He hesitates for so long, I think he’s not going to answer. I’m in the process of formulating my next question when he whispers, “Salome.”

A profound silence sweeps over us. Abruptly, I’m aware of the high-pitched hiss of drizzle falling on the tin roof, the two dogs snuffling over by the water trough, the cows in the rear part of the barn.

“Salome pushed you in the pit?” Tomasetti asks.

Ike gives a giant nod. “Don’t tell! She made us promise not to tell. She’ll be really mad.”

Next to him, Samuel screws up his face and begins to cry. “Now we’re going to go to the jail for bad kids!” he cries. “They do stuff to Amish kids!” He looks at his younger brother. “You ruined everything!”

“No one’s going to jail,” Tomasetti says.

I’m not so sure. Someone’s going to go to jail. But it won’t be these two little boys.